


if i wake up and you're gone what should i do

by amaryllises



Category: New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Past Child Abuse, Spoilers, kinda pre-game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-13
Updated: 2018-01-13
Packaged: 2019-03-04 06:21:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13358331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amaryllises/pseuds/amaryllises
Summary: [spoilers for the entirety of v3]Harukawa does not accept Momota's death, not even when she sees him die in plain sight, and not even when the key to reversing it lays in plain sight in Yonaga's research lab.





	if i wake up and you're gone what should i do

There’s an unmistaken chill that runs down Harukawa’s spine. She clutches the back of her head instinctively, her hand coming back clammy and cold. Her heart thunders in her chest as she gazes down, blinking fervently, as if the blood trickling down his chin would wipe from pure willpower alone. The crying is barely coherent over the ringing in her ears.

 

And suddenly Harukawa falls forwards, her hands clutching at her throat in a desperate attempt to breathe again. Her inhales and exhales fall in sporadic patterns, much too difficult to control. 

 

She can’t tear her eyes away from his body. No matter how much she blinks her eyes shut or tears well around the corners, there’s no way she can’t look at something as pathetic as that.

 

Pathetic. The corners of her lips tug up into a strained smile, quickly muffled by her sobs. 

 

She’s frozen in place, now a huddled mess on the ground, her pigtails slithering around her body. The entire trial room is a blur, but out of her peripheral vision, Harukawa can see Saihara looking at his hands helplessly, like he caused it.

 

She bites her lip frantically, crying in pain when she draws blood. But nobody pays attention. Not to the girl who caused the entire endeavor to happen, the girl who killed both Momota Kaito and Ouma Kokichi. Both of whom took the fall for her.

\-----

The walk to the elevator is quiet and tense. Harukawa takes a hefty amount of time mourning for Momota’s body, so she's the last to arrive, last to stand in her claimed space at the back.

 

“Are you alright, Harukawa-san?” Kiibo asks, more out of politeness than concern. 

 

Harukawa glowers at him. Kiibo merely turns away. “I see,” he speculates, looking aside, “I will refrain from talking other than necessary.”

 

The elevator ascends in silence, the only sounds coming from the clank of gears and the rotation of machinery. It smells like sulfur and chemicals, something she hadn't really paid attention to, outside of her fifth time leaving the trial room. Nobody stares ahead except for Kiibo, still posed as valiantly as he ordinarily is. Harukawa would daresay he weren't as emotionally inept as the rest.

 

She grimaces, clenching and unclenching her hand, trying to rid the numbness from each individual finger. The spare hair tie Harukawa keeps on her wrist seems to cut off the circulation more, biting into her wrist without remorse, every time she balls her hand into a fist.

 

As if a divine miracle, the elevator doors open, the  _ ting  _ signaling her journey out of Hell… back into Hell. She hears the too-familiar gush of water from the fountain, and mentally berates herself for feeling calmed. She can't feel comfortable in the Academy; not in the trial room.

 

She strolls straight out of the cramped elevator. Harukawa’s heart pounds out of her chest as she remembers her last resort. She reaches for the doorknob, efficiently throwing the exit open.

 

“Where are you going?” Saihara asks hoarsely, when she first takes a step out of the building.

 

“None of your concern,” she replies, cheeks flushing at the way her voice chokes and strains childishly from that simple sentence. It was no time for that. She had a duty.

 

Saihara looks away guiltily, apologized for provoking her. “I, ah, understand, Harukawa-san… but would you like to come train with us? Just one more time… for Momota-kun.”

 

Harukawa resists the urge to whip around in fury.

 

“What's training?” Yumeno asks, her enthusiasm drained out of her completely. It was as if she reverted back to the Yumeno before Chabashira and Yonaga died.

 

“I'll have to decline,” Harukawa snaps. And without waiting for an answer, she stomps out.

\-----

The third floor was as scary as she remembered.

 

That being, not at all. Ghosts and superstition were stupid, and Harukawa doesn’t believe a thing of it. In the orphanage, only hushed tales were whispered between the girls of a knight who would sweep maidens off their feet, and flash them a charming grin, and decapitate them right on the spot.

 

_ “The knight’s awful,” said the girl, her red hair tied in two pigtails, wagging her finger at Harukawa when she first heard the story. “Anyone who tries to help you is only looking for something to gain, right?” _

 

_ “Trust nobody,” the headmistress would say nightly, as soon as Harukawa and the rest of the girls were tucked into their identical freezing cots. “No place outside of the orphanage can do good for you.  _ Especially _ girls like you,” she would frown, upturning her nose. _

 

That was why she washed piles and piles of dishes until her hands were frigid and raw from relentless scrubbing. That was why she befell their every command, trying her best to please the headmistress in a way to escape the godawful place. And that was why, as soon as her best friend was selected, she swiped the position from underneath her.

 

“To protect her,” she assures herself, falling into another one of the headmistress’ lies. She bites her lip when she realizes she had said it aloud. Thankfully, no one even bothered to check on her — and why would they? — and she was all alone by herself, standing outside Yonaga Angie’s research lab.

 

“This will be quick,” Harukawa mutters, throwing open the door, without any regard for secrecy. No one would be able to stop her from doing so, anyways.

 

For a safety precaution, the rare event where someone would take the time to check on her (not like she cared), she closes both doors, and slides the locks shut. Both locks. After she’s done, Harukawa jiggles the doorknob on both ends, making sure she was, without a doubt, alone. 

 

She darts her eyes towards the ground. She hadn’t actually came back when Yonaga was murdered, wanting to avoid her eccentricities and where presence resided as much as possible. 

 

But as she walks to the cleared space where the four effigies of her dead classmates and Yonaga’s body once laid — Shinguuji was here too, Harukawa remembers with a shaky breath — her boots clicking on the wooden floor, she realizes that the floor is completely clean.

 

But the paint splatters were still there, which was strange, given no trace of sickly carmine blood was seen on the floor. It would’ve pooled around her body, staining the floorboards to hell and back.

 

Yet, as she crouches, squinting at the ground. Harukawa also traces her fingertips on the floor. There was no flaky residue that she was ever so familiar with, or anything that looked remotely bloody. In fact, the wood wasn’t stained at all.

 

Enough with the detours. Harukawa snaps up, unpleased with the shakiness of her legs. She frantically searches around the room; where could it be?

 

Out of the corner of her eyes, she sees it. 

 

A reasonably sized book, bound by a cheap, cardstock print of black leather. she doesn’t even need to look at the cover — engraved with a silver, cursive ‘Necronomicon’ — to know what it is. Harukawa flips to the only page there is in the entire book — the other pages were all permanently glued to the front and back cover — and nearly sobs in relief.

 

It’s still here.

 

Cautiously and quickly, Harukawa lightly prances into one of the empty rooms, although, to her embarrassment, it seemed more like a dazed dance. Much to her amazement, the candles are still aflame, and albeit her unwanted curiosity that she swallows away, she isn’t surprised, or even negatively alarmed. It was much more pleasant than watching Momota shudder, and give a victorious cough inside a spaceship, his last moments occupied than a smile.  _ Anything _ was more pleasant than watching that. 

 

Harukawa swallows her bile and chews on her lip.

 

Besides, there was no time to dawdle. As when she had to steal a loaf of bread from the kitchen, she had to always be quick, stealthy, and without a trace.

 

Assassin training also added “emotionless” to her list of work ethics.

 

She shakes her head. No time to dawdle, Harukawa repeats, as she grabs the candleholder the melting wax rests on by the golden handle on the side. She moves rapidly. A drop of wax falls on her index, which Harukawa curses at as she sets the candle down on the floor of Yonaga’s research lab. She had treated burns many times, but she couldn’t afford to waste time now. She begrudgingly settles with wiping the excess wax off her finger on her skirt, and sucks at the already reddened patch of skin.

 

Now to make the effigy. Or a lump that looks remotely similar. If the Necronomicon was correct, she only had to carve the name of the person on the back to identify it. 

 

She takes a lump of clay from the back of Yonaga’s lab in her hand, crumbling the doughy material in frustration. After several attempts at crafting something remotely humanoid, Harukawa gives up and forms a figure similar to a game piece in her hands. She writes the kanji for Momota’s name on the back, and sets it on the ground, where Yonaga’s body once laid, crumpled and cold.

 

The Necronomicon is grabbed with the candle. She holds it under the Necronomicon, which instantaneously sets ablaze, sending whirls of smoke up the room. Harukawa promptly drops the burning book and candle, and clamps her hand over her mouth, coughing at the foul smell. 

 

The fire only grows larger. Harukawa takes care of it by stomping at it a couple of times with her boots, bemused at the continuous stream of smoke that continues to cloud the air. But that comes second. 

 

Graciously, and almost slowly, Harukawa grabs a pinch of the ash, and, holding her breath, sprinkles it over her mock-effigy slowly.

 

“Momota Kaito, Momota Kaito, Momota Kaito,” she chants, and immediately shuts her eyes. The room is silent and the urge to open her eyes grasps at her, pulling her closer, chaining her by the neck. 

 

A chill of uncertainty rises in her. What if it was fake? What if Monokuma would arrive, flanked by other students, who would laugh at her failure? 

 

But she feels a tap on her back, and tears pool in the corner of her eyes.

 

She opens them quickly. Through her bleary vision, sees the unconscious figure of Momota Kaito on the ground, his chest rising and falling rhythmically.

 

Harukawa hauls Momota to her dorm. He’s heavy, and she could barely carry him on her back with her own muscular arms, but not as if that would hinder her. She had dealt with much worse before. Everyone else had retired to their dorms after their training session, so it’s a matter of opening and shutting the door before anyone else could open their own.

 

Grunting, she throws his unconscious body on her bed before sighing, content with the way her shoulders were lifted of the weight. 

 

Harukawa smiles softly at how Momota mumbles in his sleep, like a little kid. She yawns and falls to the side of her bed, her head resting on the side of the mattress. Eventually, sleep overtakes her, and she commences her slumber.

\-----

Harukawa wakes up early everyday. Today, it was six.

 

Much to her amusement, Momota is still asleep, snoring heavily. “It’s normal,” she concludes aloud, running her fingers through her tangled pigtails. “He just woke up, after all.”

 

She hops in her bathroom for a quick shower. Harukawa hums uncharacteristically as she puts on her new clothing — but not like anyone would notice; all the outfits were identical, from the trimming on her collar to the seams of her socks — and pats her hair dry, before pulling the strands into two long, messy pigtails, secured with her red scrunchies.

 

He’s still not awake when she steps out of the bathroom. She mindlessly paces around the room, awaiting his arrival. Surely, he would remember her, right?

 

And how she almost killed him.

 

Harukawa guiltily chews the inside of her mouth, staring at the ground in disbelief. He was still alive, that was fine. He would thank her for it, regardless if he resented her for causing his death along with his heroic sacrifice. And if he went his way, without paying a second glance at her, she would be fine with it; she was used to it. 

 

Only when the Monokuma Announcement blares that it’s seven, Momota seems to shoot up from the bed.

 

“Woah! Shit, where am I?” he yelps, eyes wide in surprise. He seems too uncomfortable with his surroundings to recognize Harukawa’s room. Although, it’s strange; the only difference boys’ rooms had from the girls’ was the duvet color.

 

“You’re in my dorm, Momota,” Harukawa says through clenched teeth, suspiciously eying Momota. This could be another one of Monokuma’s tricks, perhaps a robot he had programmed to act exactly like Momota. 

 

“Dorm?” Momota asks, squinting as if the dim lighting of Harukawa’s room was obstructing on his ability to function.

 

“Yes,” she confirms, fiddling with her hair tie. 

 

“What’d I wake up to?” he scratches his head, and looks down at his own clothing; his purple coat hanging off his shoulder completely, as if he hadn’t spent the past few weeks walking around in it. “Some kinda alarm?”

 

“Don’t you remember?” Harukawa asks, the begging nature of her voice disguised as a cold command. “The Monokuma Announcement.”

 

“The-” Momota’s eyebrows shoot up in pleasant shock. Harukawa’s surprised at how gleeful his face his, how triumphant he looked. “The  _ Monokuma  _ Announcement _? _ ” he asks, enunciating every word slowly. “ _ Monokuma _ ?”

 

“Yes…” Harukawa confirms hesitantly, eying the astronaut in front of her. 

 

“Holy shit! Am I on Danganronpa?” Momota blurts out, as if he couldn’t contain himself.

 

“I-I don’t know what that is,” Harukawa stammers, her relieved demeanor fading away by the second, taking a shaky step back. “We’re in the Academy for Gifted Juveniles… remember?”

 

“Ya haven’t heard of Danganronpa?” Momota throws his head back in a laugh. But it’s not Momota Kaito’s laugh, the one that leaves Harukawa starstruck, the one she can recall and describe clearly without a second thought. “Ya know, the game where a bunch of teenagers kill each other?”

 

“What?” Harukawa’s face turns pale, and she rests her hand in a position where she can retrieve the knife strapped to the elastic band of her skirt. 

 

“Man, it was my lifelon’ dream to be on this show!” he winks, and meticulously peels away the blanket from him, and stands on his feet, lazily stretching to the stars. “And here I fuckin’ am, in the flesh, huh? Is this like… a Naegi and Maizono situation?” 

 

“Who are they?” Harukawa whispers, her back against the wall, as if a last attempt to flee.

 

“I guess you’re not as big of a fan as me,” he chuckles nonchalantly, ruffling his hair as an attempt to tame it. “Uh, you — whatever your fuckin’ name is — can you lead me to the gym? It’s gonna start!”

 

“Harumaki.”

 

“That’s ya name?” he frowns, as if he had never heard of it before. “Strange name. Would’ve thought it was a nickname or some sort like that.”

 

“Momota, do you really not know who I am?” Harukawa pleads. “Or- or, Saihara. Or Yumeno. You won’t forget Ouma,” she scrunches her nose when she says his name, “right?  _ Right _ ?”

 

“‘fraid I don’t know who those are,” Momota frowns, scratching his head, as if all those names were foreign and peculiar. “But, lady —  _  Harumaki _ — we should get goin’, right? We don’t want to miss it!”

 

“Miss what?”

 

“Y’know! When Monokuma announces the killing game!” Momota’s eyes brighten, in such a joyful, carefree way, that she only sees when he gazes at the stars, pointing out every constellation to his sidekicks. 

 

(Or when he looked at her when he was dragged upon the ship)

 

Harukawa gulps, not wanting to respond to his proposition. All her confidence from earlier had disappeared, leaving her with pure fear. Tears pricked her eyes, but she threatens the flow by swallowing air to contain it.

 

“Oh, you really don’t fuckin’ know, huh? Some might describe the mutual killing game as—”

 

“Illicit,” she murmurs quietly.

 

“— illegal, but it ain’t, really! Besides, whoever wins gets to bring home a ton of money and fame! Enough to last ya for ya entire life!” Momota says contently, as if it were common knowledge. “A couple o’ lives  _ definitely _ is worth less than a couple billion dollars!”

 

Barely able to make out his figure, Harukawa slumps to the floor, her head spinning in circles, like a planet in orbit. Of course  _ her _ Momota wouldn’t be back; why would Monokuma give her — or anyone — something as valuable as that? Instead, he dumped on her a homicidal, delusional maniac, an occupant of Momota’s body.

 

“Miss? Ya alright? Shit, I might have to leave without ya!” Although his tone is carefree and joking, Harukawa can somehow tell he’s not lying about leaving her behind. 

 

“... We’ll go, then,” she chokes out as she stands, the foreign weight on her feet heavy and uncomfortable. She brings a hand down to smooth her skirt. “To the gym, for the ‘Danganronpa’ thing,” Harukawa adds curtly.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> me: make a good fluffy kaimaki fic where everyone lives!!! :) that shouldn't be hard right!!! you love every v3 kid!!! :)))  
> also me: _makes this_
> 
>  
> 
> title is a song called "what should i do" by jaymes young


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